


Moonshine and Milk Tea

by gold33



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartenders, British English, Food Porn, Friendship, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, My First Fanfic, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, Working adults, foodservice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold33/pseuds/gold33
Summary: Lance bartends, not because it pays well, but because making drinks feels like something worth betting a career on. Its definitely not because of the handsome guy who shows up every Tuesday asking for a new drink each time, and who's teasingly sarcastic and actually smoking hot but can't take a tease back and blushes like an strawberry.Most certainly not.Bartender / Boba Cafe AU cos I am dreaming of a Pre Covid world and this is my love letter as a lil foodservice boy meself.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Kudos: 8





	Moonshine and Milk Tea

_LANCE_

It was never about the money. It was about having something worth coming back to.  
Like, its silly sometimes, how much meaning I place in the food I make. I wish my heart could find meaning in them high flying corporate jobs. Everyone expected that from me, the honours' grad from business school.  
I’m sure nobody wanted to see me slinging drinks in a dingy little corner in downtown KL.  
Well, nobody but me I suppose. 

***

There’s been a new face at the Moonstone these days.  
It’s 5.05pm, Tuesday, and like clockwork this dude is here again. Always alone, which in itself is rather uncommon round here.  
He’s young, mid-twenties maybe, and dresses like he’d belong more in a pulsing nightclub maybe couple blocks down. All black, tight enough to attract attention but not to the point of revealing all the goods. 

I’m polishing glasses for tonight’s shift as he makes his way in, his body moving between the sparse lighting like a ghost within mist. I pretend to not notice him, but I’m sure we both know that’s not true.  
He slides into his seat at the bar, second from the left, just close enough to be in earshot. Maybe just far enough to not be a bother, like he doesn’t want my full attention. Like a callous cat somewhat, close by but never close enough to be a satisfying presence.

“Hey there moonshine, what did I do to deserve the great broody vampire lord visiting me this fine evening?” 

He shoots over his usual face, half exasperation and half piqued interest.  
As usual, his face is pretty, just the right balance of chiselled angles and angelic curves, like the kind of guy who could make just about anyone pinch themselves and doubt their sexuality. Tonight however, I could see some rather heavy shadows under his eyes.

“God how are you still so lame after all this while.”

“Hey ironic lameness is a dying art form that ought to be preserved! Shame that normies like you can’t appreciate that.”

“Maybe if you were less cheesy and lame I’d be here more often.”

I chuckle. “Maybe you’re just too broke to come here more often.”

He slouches over on the bar top, almost like a cat splayed out on a warm laptop, just basking in the air of this quaint little cocktail bar.  
“Is that something you should be saying to a regular?”

“A single ticket every seven days does not make you a regular.”

“Well, all I need to do is come in on a predictable schedule amirite?” He tilts his face towards me, the three silver studs in his ear glinting in the dim spotlights hanging over us.

“Darling, nothing about you is predictable. Well, except your shit taste in clothes. Like 90’s Ken Doll called he wants his outfit back, even if you're pulling it off.”

He gets flustered for a little bit, for like barely two seconds, before he steels his face again like he couldn’t care less. Fuckin’ adorable.

“God, was that a compliment or a roast?” He mutters.

“Both is good I suppose.” I supply.

He smiles, and I swear I should be more professional than this but he gives me a high bigger than any of the bottles behind me could.

“So what’s the poison tonight?” I ask.

He pulls out his phone, the pale light across his face pulling out the edges of his face in ways that make my throat go dry.  
“Let’s do a Last Word today.”

I pull out the reference book from the drawer beneath the counter and start flipping through the yellowed pages.

You see, this cat never orders the same drink twice. He is simultaneously my best and worst customer. Best because I’m learning new drinks every time he’s in and worst cause it’s a pain in the gobsmacking arse.

***

**LAST WORD, by Lance McClain :3**

3/4 ounce gin (Citadelle)  
3/4 ounce green Chartreuse  
3/4 ounce maraschino liqueur (Luxardo)  
3/4 ounce fresh lime juice (key lime)

Build: In a tin, put in key lime juice, Luxardo, green Chartreuse, and Citadelle, each three quarters of an ounce. I choose the more delicate gin as to complement the cherry liqueur and because my dear regular likes things a little floral.

Ice: one solid, one cracked. 

Shake: swiftly, rhythm flowing from my arms, like the bends of a coursing river after the rain.

Double Strain: honour the drink, clearing all distractions from the liquid and the moment.

Garnish: single maraschino cherry, speared on a bamboo pick. Uncomplicated. 

***

I place before him a glassy coloured drink with a tint of green, sitting neatly in a fine coupe glass.

He gazes at it, as though capturing the look in his mind. He brings it to his lips, inhales the aroma, and sips the drink with his slim lips.

His eyes are half lidded, and drink still in his hand he mutters, “Fuck me, Lance, that’s so fucking good.”

That thing I said about him being my best customer cause I’m learning new drinks? That’s a lie of course. He’s my best customer cause he’s Eros incarnate and the smoky caramel of his words and that face he makes haunts my mind all night long.

I wink, all poised and charismatic even though my body is all taut and my mind is reeling faster than a line hooked on the fiercest tuna.  
“The pleasure’s all mind, Keith.”

Keith keeps coming back, and I keep coming back to this dingy little bar in KL night after night if it means that I get to see him on Tuesdays.

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I'm a little late to the Klance train but here goes! Its my first fic here so absolutely feel free to comment or offer suggestions or criticism and I'll see if I can meet y'all halfway XD


End file.
